Sonnet

"I loved thee once, O Atthis, long ago." So Sappho sang. The slender chords of spring, For one who knew thee, nevermore will bring The music of thy voice with all its low Deep cadence to the listening ear. Although Slow dripping tears cease not their salty sting, I am aware of this the year’s upswing, How once I loved thee, Atthis, long ago.

I am not sad. The white plum petals drift Across my hair with touch as light as thine, And down the wild spring wind the willows lace Their green against the sky. It is the sign. This spring, the clouds of my dark spirit lift. I see, O Atthis, wonders in thy face!